


Date Night

by orphan_account



Series: Indulgence [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All Human AU, Almost Love Confessions, Blind Character, Blind Derek, Date Night, Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Single dad Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12783651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You been waiting long?” Derek asks.Stiles stands up, stretching and his back pops.  He laughs when Derek winces sympathetically.  “No, just like five minutes.  Miguel came and gave my crotch a nice sniff, and then I made best friends with your couch for a bit.”“All that in five minutes, hmm?” Derek asks, holding a hand out toward Stiles' voice.





	Date Night

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the blind Derek AU I started and added a series tag for so I can add more to this universe when I get the chance. This one is from Stiles' pov for a little challenge to myself. I'm more comfortable writing from the blind character's perspective, but I'm working on my writing skills, so hopefully it's not too awkward or weird. It's quickly beta'd so any mistakes remaining are all mine.

He gets to the door with a single text on his phone reading, **Getting in the shower, let yourself in**. His phone is pressed to his palm, warm from his pocket, and his entire body feels like it’s buzzing because he’s been dating Derek now for nearly two months and it’s their first night actually alone which has him all worked up he can’t really think straight.

Stiles had imagined his internship going about a thousand different ways, but none of them ended with him as the boyfriend of one of the most unfairly attractive men he’d ever met in his entire life. Derek pretty much oozed sex, and more than just in his taut biceps and leather jacket, but in the way he spoke, and the smirk on his face when he knew he was getting Stiles worked up, and even the way he was the best fucking dad ever because well…apparently that kind of did it for Stiles. Domesticity or…whatever.

Yeah.

But they both wanted to take it slow. Derek because he had a kid to think about, and he hadn’t dated since his daughter’s mom and that story was so fucking wild Stiles had a hard time wrapping his mind around it. Stiles wanted to take things slow because his dating track record wasn’t exactly the best—he kind of went all in, as fast as he could, and he always crashed and burned. He liked Derek probably more than he’d ever liked anyone apart from Lydia—though with Lydia he was mostly in love with the unfairly created persona in his head considering she didn’t give him the time of day until Senior Year of high school. But she’d lived up to the expectation, even if it wasn’t entirely in the love way.

Derek was different.

Derek was a white picket fence and celebrating anniversaries and family vacations and holiday cards kind of thing. He was Long Term, capital L, capital T. He hadn’t said any of this, of course. I mean, they hadn’t even fucked yet, and hell they were doing their first real date night that didn’t end with kissing Miriam goodnight and reading her Goodnight Moon four hundred times.

Right now, he was just doing his best not to have expectations.

With a breath, he pushes the door open, then steps into the living room before locking it behind him. Miriam is at her aunt’s house, which means there’s no need to worry about the time, or any of that stuff. He startles when there’s a sudden, wet nose in his crotch, and he kneels down to bury his hands in Miguel’s fur.

The dog matches Derek—thick black fur, huge, terrifying at first glance but the most loyal dog he’s ever met in his entire life. Which kind of makes sense since he’s Derek’s guide dog and he needs to be, but there’s an energy about the dog that’s different from other ones Stiles has met.

He likes it. Derek needs that sort of thing.

Miguel gets bored of the pets after a little bit, and strolls over to his bed which is tucked along side the couch near Mimi’s dollhouse, and he flops into it. Stiles, under previous instruction, makes himself at home, feet up on the coffee table, head back.

He’s exhausted, of course. The internship is going well, but he’s been working with the pre-k kids which is all well and good except they’re all three and four years old and they’ve got about twenty times the energy he has. Luckily there’s only five of them, and luckily they’re only there until noon. After that he goes wherever Laura tells him to—usually it’s in the tech lab because that’s the stuff he’s going to need to take back to the high school.

Assuming he still wants to.

Being with Derek, listening to the other teachers, experiencing these kids—well, he’s starting to have second thoughts about his whole thing.

And it’s not like he was wrong when he’d explained to Derek why he was taking his education back to the public school. There were a few things in Stiles’ life that he would never forget. The death of his mother, his father’s first day in AA, and the day Scott came back to BHHS and realized that everything for him was not only different, but almost completely inaccessible.

He doesn’t want that to happen again.

But he’s having trouble with the thought of losing this school which is like a family—in some cases almost literally. Laura’s been hinting about making an offer for a permanent position too, and he’s having trouble with imagining himself saying no to that, also.

It’s too much to think about, and goddamn it this is his date night. He’s not going to bog himself down with work shit.

Closing his eyes, he hears the shower go off, and then about five minutes later, Derek’s bedroom door opens with the telltale squeak of a hinge he’s never bothered to oil. Stiles sits up with a grin, and watches Derek walk out into the living room wearing only boxers, one hand on the wall to guide him.

“Hey,” Stiles says.

Derek’s face breaks out into the softest grin, and Stiles feels like he might implode or combust or something, because god _damn_ but that man is his boyfriend and he’s not entirely sure how he got so lucky. “You been waiting long?” Derek asks.

Stiles stands up, stretching and his back pops. He laughs when Derek winces sympathetically. “No, just like five minutes. Miguel came and gave my crotch a nice sniff, and then I made best friends with your couch for a bit.”

“All that in five minutes, hmm?” Derek asks, holding a hand out toward Stiles' voice.

Stiles goes willingly, allows Derek to crowd up against him, to push his nose into his neck, kissing there softly before making his way to Stiles’ mouth. “You still want dinner?”

As if to answer him, Derek’s stomach rumbles, and he flushes lightly as he chuckles. “I might have skipped lunch today to deal with some computer shit. The printer kept printing all the braille backward like it was in goddamn Hebrew,” Derek says as he leads the way back to the bedroom, Stiles close on his heels.

It’s pitch black, and Stiles trips over something before Derek’s voice says, “Oh shit, light’s off?”

“I got it,” Stiles says, and fumbles for the switch until the low, yellow lamp near his dresser flickers on.

Derek’s already at his dresser, pulling out a polo shirt to go with the dress pants laid out on the bedspread. “I thought we’d hit up that Mexican place Laura recommended. It’s close enough to walk, and it’s nice out.”

Which it is. It’ll be nice for a while, actually, which is the real blessing about living in Beacon Hills. Fall is the best time of year, and summer is just giving way to it now.

Stiles watches Derek change, his eyes taking in his lithe form, the vicious scars on his side, the way his left eye always turns in toward his nose which is a side-effect of his weak ocular muscles. He watches Derek’s clever hands tuck his shirt in to his waistband which is borderline obscene—or at least it is to Stiles who just wants to climb him like a damn tree.

“You’re very quiet,” Derek says.

Stiles huffs a laugh, and then steps into him again, letting his face rest in Derek’s palm as he cups Stiles’ cheek. “Mm, am I?”

“See something you like?”

“Everything I like,” Stiles says, and then pushes in so they can kiss for a few, languid minutes.

But Derek is still hungry, and Stiles is totally down for some enchiladas and maybe a margarita or two since they’re walking anyway. Derek takes his cane instead of Miguel, since the pup is still struggling with his leg and he’s not doing long distances so well these days. Stiles can tell Derek is worried about it, and he can only imagine the stress of knowing that this companion you’ve spent so many years trusting and bonding with, and letting become a part of you, is actually going to age and retire and eventually die.

It happens with people. Mortality is inevitable and he and Derek know that all too well. He and Derek haven’t talked about what’s next either. Right now isn’t the time. Right now is the time for holding hands and delicious Mexican food which he can start smelling as they get closer and closer to the restaurant.

“Does it look busy?” Derek asks as they cross the street. The restaurant is on the corner, and the lights are bright, music pumping through speakers.

“Uh,” Stiles says, squinting. “Kind of, but I think a lot of people are waiting for an inside table. The patio looks pretty clear.”

He’s right. There’s no wait for outside, and there’s a nip in the air, but there are wicker booths with slightly stiff, weatherproof cushions and it allows Derek and Stiles to squeeze together on one side like the dorky, new couple they are.

They don’t have braille menus, so Stiles goes through the list until he stops on the portabella mushroom fajitas. “That,” Derek insists.

They get gauc with no sour cream to start, and Stiles gets his margarita which comes in a cactus shaped marg glass, the mixture pink from prickly pear puree, and it’s rimmed with sugar and salt.

“You want a taste?” Stiles asks, his voice slightly muffled by the straw he’s clenching between his teeth. He takes a sip, and the straw makes an obscene slurping sound.

Derek laughs, then reaches up and cups Stiles’ chin, kissing him with deep tongue. When he pulls back, Stiles still stunned into speechlessness, Derek hums and says, “Not bad.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathes.

Derek grins happily and he lets his hand fall between them where he can twist their fingers together. “This is nice,” he says after some time. His head is tipped toward Stiles, and the music isn’t as loud out here so they don’t have to speak up too much.

Stiles can’t help but grin to himself and sigh as he tucks in closer to Derek. “Yeah. It is.”

\--- 

Apart from the server being a little hesitant when it came to Derek—something Stiles had gotten pretty used to being besties with Scott and all, and apart from one tiny issue where Derek misjudged the edge of the fajita skillet which was mostly cool by the time he touched it—and really, Stiles was pretty sure Derek only complained as loud as he did because Stiles then kissed it better, slightly obscenely—the dinner went off without a hitch.

Derek paid the check and the two of the headed back to the house with Stiles feeling pleasantly relaxed from the heavy food and just a slight hint of tequila which would likely be out of his system by the time they made it back to the house. They took the pace at an easy stroll, Derek’s cane swish-tapping in an almost lazy arc in front of them, their fingers tangled, palms warm against one another’s.

“Do you wish we could do this more often?” Derek asks when they’re about half way home. There’s a hesitance to his voice which makes Stiles look up at him sharply.

“What?” he asks, just a little confused.

“It’s just…this isn’t a thing we get to do a lot,” Derek adds, his shoulders slumped a little, almost in defeat which Stiles is so not having on this date. “With Miriam…”

“Actually,” Stiles says, “and uh…I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to you know like, overstep or anything. But one of my first thoughts was that Miriam would totally dig that place, you know? The music was pretty fun, and they have these red and green and yellow twinkle lights everywhere. Plus it’s loud enough like who’s going to notice a four year old, right?”

Derek looks…well Stiles isn’t really sure, but there’s enough lights coming off the street lamps that he can see Derek’s cheeks have a little bit of color to them. And Derek then squeezed his hand more. “Does it make me a terrible father that I wish you and I had gotten a chance to be together without the complication of a kid.”

Stiles snorts. “Hey, it’s not like you’re wishing she was never born. Just that you know…we had time before, right?”

“Right,” Derek says, a little breathy.

“I think that makes you a person,” Stiles says. He can see Derek’s house now, and he slows their pace a little more, trying to draw out this moment between them. They talk a lot, but they don’t always talk about stuff like this—the quiet, almost painful what-ifs between them. “I think when your past relationship was literal garbage and you didn’t get something nice and kind, it’s totally fine to make a selfish wish or two. But for the record, dude, I’m happy.”

Derek’s lips quirk, and he says, very soft, “Yeah?”

And there’s enough real, actual wonder in his voice that Stiles has to stop them completely and drag Derek in for yet another kiss.

\--- 

They get to the house and plop on the couch for some lazy making out and a little bit of TV as the food settles. Derek mutters something about dessert halfway through an episode of Parks and Rec, but Stiles’ mouth is working a sensitive spot just below his jaw and the answer gets lost somewhere in there.

They’re…getting kind of hot. And heavy. And it’s further than they’ve gone before so Stiles finally puts his hands on Derek’s shoulders and steadies them. “How far do you want to go tonight? Because I’m not in a rush and I don’t want you to feel like…”

“I feel like I want you,” Derek says, and his hand splays under Stiles’ shirt, warm against his belly. “I’ve been wanting this for a while. If you…”

“Oh hell yes,” Stiles says, and kisses the laughter falling from Derek’s lips.

They eventually make it to the bedroom. It’s dark again, and when Stiles realizes Derek’s going for the light switch, he stills his hand. “Is it okay if we like…don’t?”

Derek stops, and there’s a frown in his voice. “Don’t what?”

Stiles takes a breath, puts his hands on either side of Derek’s neck which in a way kind of grounds him. “Um. Don’t turn on the light?”

At that, Derek laughs, a light, amused sound and he kisses the corner of Stiles’ mouth which he finds with his thumb first. “Why would I care?”

“I just uh…” Stiles licks his lips, says nothing as Derek takes Stiles by the hands and carefully guides him to the bed. They situate themselves on the mattress, and Stiles looks around, seeing nothing but a faint outline of shadows which are only vaguely illuminated by the streetlamp coming in through the slats in the blinds.

“It’s just what?” Derek asks softly, his tone letting Stiles know he can say anything.

“So um…it’s kind of…god I don’t want to sound like an abelist asshole but…”

“You want to be on even footing,” Derek says, his tone kind of simple, but not offended which makes Stiles relax.

“Something like that, yeah,” Stiles admits. In truth, he read about a thousand blogs by blind people on what they want from their partners, and so many of them said they like the idea of making love in the dark. But making love was the key word there, couples in love, and yeah Stiles has fallen hard and fast and frankly he’s pretty sure it is love, but also he doesn’t want to send Derek running for the hills.

“Is that what you want?” Derek asks. “You know it doesn’t matter to me. Lights on or off, all the same.”

Stiles knows this. Derek is totally blind. No light perception. “It…I want you to be comfortable. It’s not like…I’m not saying that it’ll be like you experience it but…”

“Stiles,” Derek says, then cups his cheek and draws him close so their noses are nuzzled together. “It’s sweet. Thank you. And yes, I like this. I like the idea of knowing you’re seeing me the same way I see you.” To punctuate his sentence, he drags his hand, a slow motion down Stiles’ still clothed chest, down to his crotch where his erection is straining against his jeans. He kneads it with the heel of his hand, making Stiles’ head tip back, a groan rushing from his throat.

Derek laughs, then his clever, dedicated fingers work at his button and his zipper, and after that it’s kind of a flurry of movement as clothing is ripped off and flung across the room until their hot, naked bodies are pressed together.

Stiles knew this was coming—or well, he hoped it was. But he didn’t entirely think things all the way through because he just never does, and now he’s not sure what they’re doing. He’s not caught up in the idea that fucking means penetration every time—and hell yeah he wants that, but he’s the kind of guy who has to work up toward that, and he’s wondering if he should say something to Derek.

But then Derek is between his legs and kissing down his chest, and murmuring, “Is this okay?”

“Are you seriously asking me if it’s okay to suck my dick?” Stiles gasps as Derek’s breath ghosts over his rock-hard erection.

Derek laughs, nuzzles it and it’s almost too much sensation with his beard but fuck he’s kind of into it. “I’m always going to ask, Stiles.”

“Well okay, me too. And fuck yes, you can suck my dick. God that’s like…pretty much the star of every one of my latest fantasies. Though some of them have involved me sucking _your_ dick under your classroom desk andmmapfhida,” his words trail off in a jumble of sounds as Derek stops fucking around and starts fucking _him_. With his _mouth_.

And holy fucking shit it’s so good. Too good.

He comes in an embarrassingly short amount of time with one hand in Derek’s hair, and the other hand touching Derek’s face near his mouth to feel the way his dick slides in and out of it.

He falls back and he’s muttering something about helping, but Derek’s just leaning over him and Stiles can feel the motion of Derek’s arm, and the breath on his naked torso, and then a grunt just before warm liquid spurts out in a few heavy dollops on his stomach.

“Oh fuck yes,” Stiles says.

Derek chuckles, then pats him on the thigh. “Something like that, yeah. I’ll get us something to clean up with.”

Stiles tries to offer to help, even though it’s just cursory because there’s no fucking way he can make his limbs work enough to get out of bed, and he’s also kind of super into the idea of Derek cleaning him up.

Which he does—the rag a little colder than he’d like, but the stickiness is gone, and then Derek’s back and he’s wrapped around Stiles like the big spoon with his scratchy face buried at the back of Stiles neck.

There’s a long, long silence before Derek speaks again. “You make me happy.”

That statement shoots through Stiles like it’s made of literal fireworks, and he thinks that he’s probably metaphorically glowing right then. “Yeah?”

Derek laughs. “You can’t tell?”

“I didn’t want to assume it was me,” Stiles admits, and he closes his hand around the back of Derek’s, holding it firm against his belly. “You make me happy too. Like stupid amounts of happy. Like so happy it should be illegal.”

“Like so happy I’m thinking words that might be too early to say,” Derek whispers, right against the back of Stiles’ ear.

Stiles freezes and he feels Derek tense but he can’t help it, because holy shit. “Yes,” he finally says, and Derek relaxes as Stiles attempts to tuck him in even closer. “Yes. That.”

“Maybe not…not yet,” Derek says.

“But probably soon,” Stiles answers.

Derek’s reply is a soft hum, and another kiss before the pair of them ease into a dreamless, heavy, pleasant sleep.


End file.
